Janus' Sincerity
by yeknodelttil
Summary: When Emma Swan arrives in Storybrooke she meets someone who has just as many walls as she does; luckily his cursed state is something they can both hide behind. Soon a question begs to be answered… why is everything saying he shouldn't be there? AU CHAPTER 2 UP!
1. Cursing

**Janus' Sincerity**

_Author: yeknodelttil_

_Show: Once Upon A Time_

_Rating: T_

_Genre: Romance/Angst_

_Pairing: Captain Swan_

_Disclaimer: I don't own Once Upon A Time. This is purely for the enjoyment of its fans, created by a fan._

_Spoilers: Series 1 & 2_

_Summary: AU When Emma Swan arrives in Storybrooke she meets someone who has just as many walls as she does; luckily his cursed state is something they can both hide behind. Soon a question begs to be answered… why is everything saying he shouldn't be there?_

_A/N: I've been wanting to write this story for a few weeks, usually I write for a different and much smaller fandom. I fancied branching out into a new fandom which I feel nervous about. It's been a number of years since I wrote for a large fandom and I feel rusty, although it's making me feel more excited to write than I have for a long, long time._

_I apologise in advance for my spelling, I'm British so some words will slip through and be spelled our way. We're only just finishing season 2 over here… you're all so lucky._

_Thank you to everyone who read Perspective, I hoped you like it. Thanks for your support._

* * *

Chapter 1: Cursing

He was a good kid.

Henry.

She hated to crush his dreams but she couldn't stay here.

For the last few hours he'd talked nothing but nonsense about saviours and curses and fairy tales… bringing up her own past. A past she'd rather forget.

A longing for a family and the regret she'd tried so hard to bury.

Emma slammed on the brakes, she couldn't drive like this.

Her whole body jolted forward as it was thrown forwards by the sudden halt. The pain was refreshing as the taut seat belt dug into her torso. It gave her the blissful respite of forgetting about everything that night – if only for a few seconds.

All too soon her thoughts returned, blazing at the front of her mind and almost swimming in front of her eyes.

Emma yanked open the car door not caring if the force was too much for the door. The car had survived worse; it was tougher than it looked.

Like her.

* * *

She slammed her hands down on the roof of her yellow Volkswagen Beetle, the dull thunk as her hands impacted the metal sending a wave of comfort to her before pain raced through her muscles at the jolt.

She shoved herself from the car and paced, she couldn't calm herself down. She could feel the tension leaving her with every slap of her feet against the road. She didn't show her emotions and here she was in a town that she didn't know where everyone could see her heart on her sleeve. She felt vulnerable and isolated, something she despised and hadn't felt in just over ten years.

How could she – someone who knew a thing about tracking and more importantly how to avoid it – be found by a ten year old?

A ten year old with a mother who controlled a town.

The woman loved her son she could see that, although part of her wanted to believe otherwise. The Mayor – Regina – had secrets but who didn't. Emma was concerned though at the thought that he wanted to run away from her in the first place.

Emma Swan knew a few things about escaping homes and families from her own time in the system. It was natural for adopted or foster children to rebel, to push the boundaries but guilt clouded her at the knowledge that it was her fault.

The kid did have one thing she didn't – a stable home from the day he was born. She had done the right thing, no matter how much it haunted her. She shook her head to try and get rid of the thoughts that usually led her down the path to misery.

Henry. The name was a good one, he'd simple been baby boy, ten years ago. He wanted a fairy tale, the kind she'd dreamed of before she'd had the dream metaphorically smashed out of her. The dream of being reclaimed by a parent that was some kind of hero.

There were no heroes in this world, if there were she'd only ever attracted villains.

"Jesus Christ." Emma exclaimed as loud as she could, everything becoming too much for her and lifting her frustration towards the heavens as no one else seemed to be around to take it out on. This whole town was like a ghost town at night, it was probably the way it was in small rural towns but it certainly wasn't her kind of town.

"Is Lord." A smooth but masculine English accent chipped in without a moment's hesitation, making her heart jump into her throat. She almost pressed a hand to her chest but that would show that she'd reacted to whoever it was and she certainly wasn't one for expressing emotion freely. Emma knew the consequences of showing any kind of emotion all too well.

As calm as she could she spoke. "What?"

"Or at least that's what people usually add when they see me, clearly you haven't yet." The words were spoken with amusement and slight smugness. A slight Irish lilt injected into certain syllables made the words seem slightly gruff but mesmerising.

Immediately the tone had her head tipping to her left as annoyance took over. Her jaw shot to one side as her eyes narrowed. She hated smartasses and she was really growing to hate this town and she hadn't even been in it an hour yet. Whoever it was, they were standing far too close to her, hell the other side of the road would've been too close after the night she was currently suffering through.

"Listen…" Emma turned around as fast as she could as if her life depended on it, her eyes swept to one side as she realised who exactly had heard her utter those words. An instinctive wave of embarrassment swept over her but it didn't show on her face, or she hoped it didn't.

* * *

The first thing she was drawn to was his face. He was about the same age as her, ruggedly handsome with thick, jet black hair that fell into his cerulean eyes. His eyes were hypnotising, she could feel herself falling into them, and a familiar buzz forced itself to the front of her chest. A feeling she hadn't felt in far too long a time. He held her gaze and she could literally see the emotions flittering through them, softening as he looked at her. He was studying her just as intensely.

She blinked rapidly breaking eye contact with him as a thrill raced up her spine. The thrill was uncomfortable; she didn't like the implication of what it could mean. His eyes gazed back at her with hints of amusement and friendliness but also secrecy that only served to lure her in as if *he* was a siren.

Emma slowly traced her eyes over his features before noticing his playful smirk across two soft lips that gave him a boyish quality. A light dusting of shadow lay on his cheeks, almost caressing the pale skin there.

Something reflected the light, catching her eyes like a flare.

Her eyes moved down his neck, strong like a singers or perhaps he was a singer before noticing the tell-tale white collar peeking through his tightly buttoned black trench coat, shining like a beacon on a foggy night.

There was no mistaking what that symbolised. She was the kind of person who avoided people wearing that particular costume like the plague.

A Priest.

She'd just cursed in front of a Priest – although he might be a Reverend.

In her mind being a Reverend made it just that bit better. A less damning offence.

She looked upwards for some assistance before facing him again, "I… er… I…" She sounded like a school girl speaking to her first crush.

What was it about Priests and cursing that made people tongue tied?

She wondered silently, because she was certainly sure it had nothing to do with his good looks and playful manner. She'd been around enough good looking guys on her honey trap dates and they'd never tongue tied her before.

However there was something different about this priest, curate, vicar, whatever the hell he was. Something beneath the surface.

For the first time she wasn't sure where she stood with someone.

He didn't fit into one of the neat little boxes she had in her mind when she met someone for the first time. He didn't come under liar or crook. Yet he didn't come under professional or law abiding. He didn't fit into the typical box that was reserved for religion either.

His face said one thing, his lips said another and his eyes contradicted them both.

Hell, he wasn't even what she pictured for a Priest. He was far too young and far too… She shook her head imperceptivity to stop that thought before it even started.

It all came down to one thing.

He was a puzzle and Emma Swan didn't like puzzles.

"I've heard worse." He chuckled, his eyes twinkling with pure laughter even if he didn't express it out loud. "And I've said worse." He stepped closer to her and Emma found herself feeling uncomfortable at her personal space being breached. She physically created a barrier between them by folding her arms over her chest as if it would protect her. He noticed but it didn't stop him immediately, he moved a fraction closer to her physically testing her defences. As he expected she tightened her arms even more across her chest.

As his eyes flickered to her folded arms Emma realised what he was doing, the sneaky bastard was testing her defences. No one had dared try that before without facing consequences. Unfortunately it was probably punishable by 'going to hell' to punch a man of the cloth in the face – then again with the life she'd led she was probably going there anyway.

"So what brings you to Storybrooke?"

Emma shook herself, leaning back against her yellow car relishing in the comfort the hard shell gave her. What was it with this town and their need to have conversations in the street? The shrink, the Sheriff and now the Priest slash Vicar. People in this town were too friendly and she didn't like that. She was outside her comfort zone; she liked keeping herself to herself. It kept you better protected.

The sooner the conversation was over the better for her, then she could go back to her life in Boston and spend the next ten years trying to forget how the past reared its ugly head and stirred up emotions and memories she'd rather kept buried.

"I brought back the Mayor's kid." The words slipped from her lips before she could sensor them. She should've said brought 'someone' back because any second now he would piece it all together as something inside her told her she needed to protect her secrets better from this man in front of her.

The man looked at her almost as if he could see through her. "So you're the woman who gave him up." He noted with a small smile. There wouldn't be any other reason as to why Henry had run off, he wouldn't go for the thrill of it and it had never been a secret from Henry that he'd been adopted. Sometimes it was better for children to know the truth than find out intentionally, the betrayal could be too much.

If her jaw could tighten any further it would lock in place, she didn't come to the middle of nowhere to have her decisions questioned. "I had my reasons."

"I'm sure you did." He answered quickly, he wasn't judging her. It wasn't his role to judge, there was only one thing being that could do that – he could only advise and offer forgiveness for the Lord. It was his job, however, to ask the difficult questions. She was a puzzle if nothing else, he could see through her but there were many layers to her.

No not layers, walls.

Thick steel walls that he couldn't get through even if he had a blowtorch. Something had made her this way she couldn't have been born like it. He knew walls when he saw them; he had plenty of his own to deal with. The question was did she recognise that her walls were there or had it been so long since they'd been built that she'd forgotten about them completely?

He liked a challenge and he knew she could prove his biggest.

Emma shook her head trying to ignore the need to reason with him. A change of subject was clearly in order, although she was sure she wouldn't get any sleep tonight with the thoughts he'd nurtured from the seeds Henry had planted in her mind, whizzing around demanding to be listened to.

She didn't like the fact that a stranger felt like he could talk to her that way. Especially a Priest. She had never exactly been a religious person; she'd had too much crap in her life to think that someone out there cared about her. After all who would put someone through twenty eight years of misery?

Emma realised she'd let herself slip, she'd never entered a conversation as deep as this in her life without knowing who exactly she was dealing with. "Who are you?"

From the way his head tipped, he'd been waiting for her to ask that question. Fury prickled underneath the surface of her chest, spreading throughout her body like lightning. The only outwards signs were the way she straightened herself an inch while her head lowered half an inch to look thought slightly hooded lids at him.

He was one step ahead of her already. No one bested her it took her long enough for her to be in control of her own life and she wasn't about to relinquish that power to anyone.

"John Morgan." He held his right hand out, waiting for Emma to take it. She looked at it as if she wasn't exactly sure what would happen if she touched it. He had a small smirk as he read her easily; she didn't accept contact she preferred to initiate it. "Father John Morgan, actually." He was definitely a priest, now she definitely felt worse about cursing in front of him. "Although people prefer to call me Morgan."

Emma saw in his eyes that there was a reason for this, a guard much like her own snapped down as if she was looking through a glass window that had a curtain suddenly thrown behind it. He had his own secrets and she had hers, as long as he didn't pry any more she'd leave his well alone.

He continued speaking, seeing that he had to finish his introduction. "I'm the Priest in charge of St Christopher's." Although he was sure Mother Superior would contradict him if she were here. With his other hand he gestured vaguely behind him, trying his hardest not to use his left hand for too long before dropping it back to his side.

Emma followed his motion but she couldn't see anything in the blackness of the night and the streetlamps weren't exactly the most modern in the world more like something out of the eighties. Although she did note that his other hand had a strange sort of stiffness to it, almost as if he couldn't move it. Emma knew she was staring so she pulled her gaze from his left hand hoping that he wouldn't notice and smiled tightly at him.

"You are?" He asked, waiting patiently for her to return the favour. She didn't answer at first, "I know you curse in front of Priests so I guess you're this rude to everyone."

Did he do this with everyone? Get under their skin to annoy them to find out their deep dark secrets before doing his Pastoral duty of advising them?

He raised his dark eyebrows, gesturing to his hand which was still waiting for her to accept. He wasn't going to let her slip away that easily.

She let out a sigh, barely restraining herself from turning it into a growl. He'd issued a challenge and she was damn well going to accept it.

Emma shook his hand; his grip was firm, reassuring. "Swan, Emma Swan."

He leaned closer, a crooked smile crossing his lips. "Welcome to Storybrooke, Swan."

TBC

* * *

_A/N: What do you think so far?_

_This story was born really from my stupidity. It concerns a certain film I've seen dozens of times including in the cinema when it came out and not really making a connection when someone else can look at the screen for a few seconds and go 'That's Hook'. I haven't lived it down just yet._

_Thanks for reading._


	2. Hands

_A/N: A big thank you to AClosedBook who noticed something that I'd done that I usually roast my year sixes about more than anything – sentence openers. I really should practice what I teach, although I'm feeling a little guilty now though as I'm recapping sentence openers this week in consequence for them not using them in their extended writing._

* * *

Chapter 2: Hands

Their hands lingered together for far too long, there was a familiarity in the touch that was uncomfortable for her. It was as if she were touching a mirror of herself, the feeling when you clasped your own hands together.

Emma pulled her hand away from him suddenly, he involuntarily leaned forwards and with reactions quicker than she would've expected from a Priest he managed to right himself.

Rubbing her hands frantically on her jeans she tried to force the tingling sensation away with a friction burn – perhaps not the best idea considering she was supposed to be driving.

On that note…

"I need to be getting back to Boston."

Without giving him time to say anything she'd jumped into the yellow bug.

Unfortunately actions spoke louder than words and they were a lot faster too.

As quick as a flash he snatched the keys from the ignition, holding them away from her. He held them up in the streetlight, inspecting the practically bare keychain. Clearly the woman didn't personalise things, he could tell that from the key ring. She only had what was necessary in her life, no luxuries.

Indignantly she protested at his stealing, "Hey!"

Confidently he leaned towards her as if to conspire with her, his words held a slight taunt in them. "I don't really think it's a good idea to drive in your condition, Swan."

Her eyes widened, if it were anyone else she'd think he was flirting with her. "What condition?!"

"If you were at Regina's she would've offered you a drink, cider probably."

Lunging desperately for the keys she was met with thin air as he was quick to keep them from her. "I had two glasses of apple cider, not exactly breaking the limit." She threw the door open, just narrowly missing hitting him with, probably, a force that would've broken his hip had it collided with him. Could you argue you were provoked into injuring a priest? He didn't seem deterred as he simply side stepped the action.

"Regina's drinks pack more kick than you realise." He grinned at her, it was his duty to protect her from herself especially when she didn't realise the condition she was in.

Seriously? He was lecturing her on drink? Especially something with as little alcohol as cider?

This was coming from a priest who probably only ever drank the communion wine at services. "You're a Priest, how would you know?"

His eyes hid a secret, an amused one at that. "You didn't see the last Council Meeting." He answered with a wiggle of his eyebrows before they set to respond to her small challenge. "And I can hold my drink, Swan."

Why was he calling her Swan?

With a smirk he tucked the keys into his right coat pocket; there was a hint of his past there. As quickly as the words left his lips he looked away, he hadn't intended to offer her titbits that would inevitably create more questions she'd want answering.

She could get her keys from him, he wouldn't stand a chance if she tackled him although as her eyes raked over his body she realised that he wasn't exactly underbuilt. Guilt flooded at her as she realised how close it was to actually checking him out and how he might interpret her gaze. "How are you going to stop me?"

Now he could explain, she was listening to him. "I could call Graham and have him arrest you if you prefer to spend the night in a cell." He offered, "Unless you'd rather stay in a warm bed?"

The triumphant smile on his face told her she didn't stand a chance.

* * *

As soon as the imposing building came into sight Emma felt her steps beginning to falter, his step slowed to match hers.

"I'm not Catholic." Emma protested slightly wary of going into the church. She hadn't set foot in a church in a very long time and she certainly had no desire to do so now.

If there was one thing she'd learned about him in the last twenty minutes was that he always had an answer and she regretted any words leaving her lips.

"I'm not American but I'm in this country," A teasing grin crossed his lips, "What are you so afraid of?"

He knew which buttons to press almost immediately and he could see that. His eyes gleamed as she squared her shoulders, rolling her tongue inside her mouth to prevent herself from saying anything that would make herself worse off than she already was. Emma couldn't back down from a challenge and this was one she was going to pass.

Squaring her shoulders and standing taller she heard a chuckle from behind her, the bastard was actually laughing at the sight of her preparing to go battle. To her a church meant opening yourself up and if she couldn't even do that for herself then she couldn't handle the thought of an all seeing God being able to see into her soul.

Morgan's breath caught as he saw the battle taking its toll on her. Emma was shaking, although he was sure she hadn't noticed it. He could take her around the back to enter the rectory but this was the easiest route. The rectory had been built onto the church as the nun's accommodation had been built across the square taking up most of the grounds. There was an entrance around the other side but it meant walking another block or two to enter it.

He tried to lighten the mood. "Lightning won't strike you down; it's never struck me down."

Disbelief etched across her face as she turned towards him. "You haven't done the things I've done."

"You'd be surprised." He answered looking upwards and Emma was afraid that her little talent had broken. His words were honest and heartfelt, not a trace of pacifying or deception in them.

He pushed open the door and waited for her to enter. He couldn't force her; she had to make the decision herself.

* * *

It honestly hadn't been as bad as she'd anticipated although there was still some time for lightning to strike her down. She'd barely glanced at the church, not feeling entitled to do so although she found she actually did want to see the building Morgan was in charge of, telling herself that daylight was the best way to view it.

As he led her towards the guest room – reserved for the bishop probably – Emma tried to avert her eyes to everything that signalled what his occupation was. There wasn't as much as she thought there would be though, a few relic paintings and crucifixes but there was a personal touch as well. Volumes of books scattered along the stairs and on shelves, items from around the world on the shelves –clearly from his or his colleagues travels although Henry would've said that they'd been planted there because he could never leave Storybrooke.

All too soon they reached the end of the corridor. The rectory wasn't as large as it sounded she found but it did have a welcoming feeling to it. John beckoned for her to step inside before following her over the threshold. Emma tried to ignore the discomfort at being alone in a room with a man who could see through her even though her heart and head knew that he wouldn't try anything.

Morgan reached behind her in the dark room, leaning towards a small desk lamp that gave the room a soft glow the moment the bulb warmed.

Briskly Morgan walked passed her to the set of drawers in the corner of the room opening them quickly before closing them and leaving the room.

Strangely the feeling of loneliness crept back into her soul as he walked away from her, leaving her in the moderately sized room. A crucifix adorned the wall above the headboard of the double bed, protecting the sleeping occupant of the room. The bed was opposite the door and parallel a large bay window that looked out onto the green of the rectory, nun's quarters and church hall. An oak wardrobe was next to the door with a tall mirror attached to the left door. It was really a very simple room.

The floorboards outside creaked, growing louder in a rhythmic pattern as he approached her once more. A slight smile on his face, Emma noticed as he drew closer that he was favouring his left hand. He hadn't opened anything or carried anything in it.

"Here." He threw something black towards her. The action was so sudden she barely caught it. Curiously Emma unfolded the cloth; something dropped onto the bed as she did so. A pair of shorts were rolled up inside a large black t-shirt. She looked up at him in confusion.

"You own things other than dog collars and cassocks?"

Morgan looked upwards, "I don't dress like a priest all the time." He protested, to emphasis he pulled out his dog collar and undid the top two buttons of his purple button down shirt, leaving his skin exposed to the black, sleeveless, woollen vest he wore over his official shirt. "I do actually have a day off." Granted he didn't really use his day off very often. "I just thought you might want something comfortable to sleep in Swan."

She nodded, "Thank you." Those two words summed up her thanks for him taking her in and providing her with something to sleep in. She hadn't had anyone take care of her like this in years although for him it was part of his duty as a priest.

Morgan nodded in affirmation, before leaving her to it. Closing the door softly behind him to leave Emma in peace.

Emma looked at the clothes sceptically before peeling off her own. She folded up her jeans placing them on top of the chest of drawers before pulling off her tank top and bra. As quickly as she could, the shorts were pulled into place, gratefully she acknowledged they were large enough to fall to her mid-thigh but loose around the waist. Morgan had given her a pair with a tie chord for which she was grateful. The shirt was cotton, soft but well worn, as it slipped over her head she smelt the faint aroma of ocean and cedar wood.

Her first thought was from the docks, they were close to the coast here but the shirt somehow held a cleaner smell, as if it had been somewhere where pollution didn't exist. Her mind was travelling; she was feeling more and more sleepy. Perhaps it was something to do with the alcohol he claimed was too strong for her to drive safely with.

Shaking her head lightly, her hands grasped the duvet and pulled it back before settling herself down. The bed was actually a lot more comfortable than it looked. Sliding down she pulled the blanket up proceeding to turn the desk lamp off.

She forced her eyes closed and away from any thoughts of devious priests.

* * *

The clunking sound of a heaving mug being placed near her on something wooden drew Emma into the land of the living although the moment she opened her eyes she wished she'd stayed where she was. From the aroma that caressed her senses, the coffee was a bribe to get her to open her eyes and the temptation won out – it figures a priest would use temptation to draw her out.

In the moments that followed she became certain of one thing.

Oblivion was a much kinder punishment than the sight that greeted her.

"Do you ever take that off?" Emma groaned as she saw the brilliant white collar around his neck glow even brighter as the sun glinted off it through the crack in the curtains.

He shook his head, straightening himself. "On my day off." If possible when he smiled the sun glinted off his white teeth and made her head throb even more, "And that's not today." She threw her arm back over her eyes, she could hear him moving across the room so she knew the unbearable feeling of hot nails being forced through her eyes and into her skull was coming however she liked to play ignorant of the actual second it happened for just a bit longer.

"I thought priests were supposed to be sympathetic."

Morgan deliberately ignored her question in favour of one of his own, "And I thought you said you could handle your drink." He taunted lightly, not bothering to removing his collar or even step to one side.

Was he some kind of devil? She wondered, as he seemed to be enjoying her pain.

"I can handle my drink but it doesn't mean I don't get hangovers." Although they were few and far between nowadays and that was only when she drank tequila.

What the hell had Regina put inside that cider?

Flailing her right arm blindly in the direction of the cursed window (and without putting much thought into it), Emma grabbed his hand before freezing at the same moment he did. She'd grabbed the hand that had been covered by the glove.

Immediately her eyes snapped open in horror at what she'd done. Morgan's gaze remained on where their hands were connected. He flinched before his eyes flew to hers, mistaking the horror for what it wasn't.

Emma squeezed his hand, it was hard and unyielding, it wasn't a human hand. It was far too stiff for that. It was a prosthetic. No wonder it had seemed too stiff in the dim lamplight.

In his eyes she saw the fear, the unguarded fear at how she'd react. Slowly she let go of the prosthetic, if she let go too quickly it'd show she was repulsed by it but she wasn't. Instead she was intrigued.

Sluggishly she realised that she should speak but it came out as more of a stutter than an actually sentence. "Sorry, I… I…"

He forced a smile, before nervously tucking his hand away, hiding it from her view. As a priest he knew he should accept what happened and move on, most of the time he did but he couldn't help the fury and revulsion that bubbled up inside him when someone saw it for the first time.

"It's fine. Takes a little while to get used to." His eyes flickered to hers and Emma could see he hadn't accepted it himself yet. A curious part of her wanted to know how long ago he'd lost his hand but his eyes told her that she wouldn't get a straight answer from him.

Then again it wasn't in her nature to be delicate.

"How did you…"

Only just short of growing his answer, he spoke, "Lose it?" He wrung his arm out, as if shaking it would make it transform into a real hand. "That's a story for another time, Swan." The finality in the words told her that the conversation was over. This was his cross to bear, no pun intended, only he could accept what had happened and sometimes people never could.

An idea crept into her mind and she held out her right arm as expected he took her right hand in his and began to pull her up. Knowing exactly what she was doing, Emma shifted her weight onto her left side so it countered any movement he made.

Slowly it became more obvious that his annoyance was becoming intolerable for him as his nostrils flared and his jaw tightened. "Give me your other arm." He demanded, irritated with her and as she expected he could see what she was doing.

A tingle crept up her spine as she wondered why she even cared; she was leaving as soon as she was dressed. It shouldn't matter to her about him or his injury but Emma Swan was never one for leaving her curiosity unsatisfied.

"It's gone to sleep." She lied and she knew that he could tell she was lying from the way his left eyebrow rose. Battle raged in his eyes as he fought against her words half debating with himself whether to leave the room or stay and help her.

Reluctantly he allowed his left arm back into her view; the whole prosthetic was shaking as he held it out to her. Eye contact was broken as he lowered his gaze to his false hand; Emma gripped it slowly at first before closing her whole had around it.

Biting her lip she held back a gasp, although it was a prosthetic her hand fit as perfectly in this one as his remaining hand. The walls she built needed some quick cement work as she forced herself not to show any kind of emotion or yank her hand away from his lest he get the wrong idea.

Morgan barely gave her time to wrap her fingers around his false ones before he'd yanked her upwards, unprepared Emma stumbled nearly crashing into him in not for his right hand steading her as it held her shoulder.

Neither registered the fact she hadn't let go of his prosthetic until she tried to step away. Shock registered on both of their features as she smiled and disentangled her fingers. "It's not as bad as you think." She assured him, unsure herself why she was bothering to.

He drew his right hand upwards, scratching behind his ear with his index finger, "I'll leave you to get dressed."

Never had he before allowed someone to touch his hand the way she had. It was too comforting, something that conflicted with all the vows he had taken just with her simple acceptance of his hand. He wasn't sure how he felt about that.

He needed to get out before his mind wandered further.

* * *

Barely had Emma set her foot on the floor when heavy knocking pounded at the door. Morgan gave her a tight lipped smile, clearly still affected by what had transpired in the guest room. Emma returned it just as tightly.

Before the door was even open half way a soft, lilting Irish accent spoke, "Henry's missing." Immediately something blossomed in her chest, it could only be described as maternal instinct. She'd never experienced it before, worry gripped her, tightening around her chest until she found herself struggling to breathe.

A concerned glanced was thrown her way and she nodded, she was fine.

The Priest turned his attention back to his visitors, "And you're here because?" Morgan didn't hesitate to ask, surely as a priest he would only be consulted if she needed support and Regina wasn't the one to accept any kind of support.

Gripping the door in her hand and pushing it open further than Morgan had allowed, Emma finally stepped into view, thankful that they'd had the decency to turn up when she was fully clothed.

"They're here," Emma folded her arms over her chest and shook her head in pure disbelief, her tongue showing through the corner off her mouth. "Because I'm the prime suspect."

They'd probably noticed her car was here and asked around trying to find her. At least she hadn't been entirely on her own which in this strange town was better than nothing. She'd already done the whole jail thing once; she didn't want to do it again. It didn't speak much for Regina if she'd lost her son again after just getting him back.

"She was here, with me." Morgan spoke directly to Graham, ignoring Regina completely. Graham tipped his head to one side a smile tugging at his lips. "It was late she had some of Regina's cider so she stayed in the spare room." He explained to the Sheriff as a teasing spark glistened in the Sheriff's eye and before Regina could throw accusations around and ruin his reputation.

Something he knew she was dying to do.

Although he hadn't quite worked out why yet.

Emma watched the familiarity pass back and forth between John and Graham silently, a friendship was there and Graham was clearly satisfied with Morgan's answer. Regina on the other hand was another story.

"Aren't you tired of taking in lost souls as part of your sacred quest, Father?" Regina hissed at him, her words being taken for the literal meaning as they were thrown at him.

Morgan didn't react to her, his face falling into a completely innocent and unaffected expression, "I prefer to have faith in people Madam Mayor, it's all part of my calling." Glancing between them Emma realised that he must have the patience of a saint. "And I only answer to myself and God."

Regina leaned closer to him and he looked down at her, physically trying not to bristle as her proximity irritated him.

"We both know it's more than that, *Father*." There was a curious emphasis on that word, as if it were out of place coming from Regina's lips or even a taunt of some kind. Still, using his professional moniker couldn't be a taunt in any conceivable way.

"And what would 'that' be Madam Mayor?" A ghost of recognition passed across his features for the barest of instants. His face barely changed but his eyes had a dark quality to them for a fraction of a second.

There was more to their interactions than he was letting on.

Or perhaps he didn't even know himself.

A vengeful smile crossed Regina's deep red lips, as she looked at him through her dark eyelashes in what Emma would've called seductively if it were anyone else but her eyes showed that she knew Morgan wouldn't respond so that shifted the smile to being that of a devious one. "I hope for your sake Morgan, we never have to find out."

Registering pain in her palms, Emma realised that she'd clenched her fists as Regina had stepped closer towards Morgan, the nails biting into the tender flesh there.

Barely glancing over her shoulder towards Emma she carelessly tossed some words her way, "You're not going anywhere Miss Swan until I have my son back and if I find out you had anything to do with this Morgan I will personally enjoy the consequences."

With her final words she turned on her heel and walked away from them, her shoes clicking on the pavement as she walked.

Morgan reached behind Emma and grabbed his jacket before handing over her own red leather. "I suppose we'd better find your boy before Regina does." John was worried but he doubted Henry would've gone too far with his mother still being in the town.

Watching as the mayor walked away, Emma forgot who was next to her and spoke her uncensored thoughts as she slipped her jacked on without a second thought. "I probably would've punched her in the face."

Tipping his head to one side, he widened his eyes comically and Emma just knew he was teasing her. "If I retaliated at everything Regina said I wouldn't be much of a priest would I?"

Out of the corner of her eye she watched him glance in the direction of the cruiser. He was an expert in dealing with the Mayor or at least people like her.

The cerulean depths of his eyes reflected what she was thinking.

From her expression beforehand, Regina didn't like the fact that he didn't back down to her. Regina acted like everyone in this town was under her thumb and they probably were. She didn't like the fact the priest had defended her.

Regina hadn't appreciated that one little bit.

A question began to burn in her mind.

If Regina was in charge of this town…

Why couldn't Regina control Morgan?

TBC

* * *

_A/N: Please let me know what you think._

_If there's anything anyone would like me to include in this feel free to let me know._


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